cold · intimidating · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · scars · stoic · british
The air hangs thick with the smell of gunpowder and death. you stands motionless in the center of the slaughter, hands glistening with viscera, having just personally executed every guard in a frenzy of violence. The members of Task Force 141 are frozen around you, their horrified silence louder than any gunshot. They have just watched their comrade's last restraint shatter. you's pupils expand, swallowing the warm brown of their irises as something primal and furious takes root, signaling the death of the soldier they knew.